Grounded
by rhoades
Summary: They survived the voyage, made it back to dry land. But the worst is still to come...and they have brought some new friends along for the ride.
1. Chapter 1 : Round Again

**A.N**

**So, here we are again. Time to find out what has happened to our survivors. They are off the ocean and it seems that they have brought some friends along for the ride.**

Grounded

(Voyage II)

The mist swirled across the water a hundred yards from the shore. That was as close as any of them dared to go. Any closer and the current would drag them onto the rocks and they would have to jump ship. From there it was only a short swim and climb to the beach...but that did not bear thinking about. That way meant certain death.

All on board the boat had a job to do and the job was the all; clothes, food and weapons, ammunition.

The engine slowed down as the passed one of the more heavily populated areas and all other sounds ceased. No-one dared talk, or even breath too heavily in case they were heard.

The man looked at the mainland through the artificial eyes that were his binoculars.

From this distance he could see everything in clear picture perfect detail...and that was nowhere near a good thing.

He scanned the beach from left to right trying in vain to locate anything that looked even remotely alive. After ten minutes of fruitless searching he lowered the binoculars and let them hang from their strap from his neck. He reached up a hand and absently rubbed his shoulder.

Ever since the 'accident' it had never been the same, never healed properly. The large scar under his winter jacket still itched like crazy at times and it was then that all he wanted to do was dig his fingers into his flesh and scratch until it bled.

But, he stopped himself.

The doctor who had patched him up said he had been lucky the steel cable hadn't taken his head off.

Lucky.

That word had held a hell of a lot of meaning. Millions of others around the world had not been so fortunate.

He sat on the rough wooden side of the fishing boat and put his head in his hands, the rifle that he had strapped to his back sliding forwards. He left it where it was and despaired.

What was the point of these useless trips, the foraging, the endless nights of danger. It was only a matter of time before they were overrun. There were more of 'them' than ever now. The ratio was in the thousands to one against...and that was a conservative estimate, if he thought too much on it then he would simply have to lift the weapon he had under his chin and pull the trigger.

There were only two things keeping him from doing just that and just them.

He and his fellow survivors had gone through too much to give up on each other now.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up into the face of the young man that stood there.

Trip smiled through a face that may have been handsome once, that was until some long dead thing had tried to get to him. The story went that when they found the boy a year ago he had been in a cabin in the woods close to a lake almost dead from starvation. Both of his parents had been in a the only other room and had been for some time after they turned. The boy had a pistol and was dutifully watched the sealed door. So intent was he on that wooden barrier separating himself from his mother and father that one of the rescuers was almost on top of him before he realised he was even there. He had shot up out of the chair he was seated in and ran straight out the front door which happened to be closed at the time. He had taken a header through the glass panels and shredded his face apart. They picked him up and patched him back together. Someone had written '...life is but a different trip...' on the wall in blood and since the boy hadn't spoken a word from that day forward that was as good a name as any.

The boy, really still only a teenager, nodded and gripped the shoulder he held tighter. A sign of comradeship between one survivor and another.

The man nodded back and put his hand over his.

'Okay people enough sightseeing, it's time we earned our keep.'

The captain; a large red faced gentleman from New York leant out of the wheelhouse and shouted down to them.

The man got to his feet and readjusted the rifle on his back, pulling the thick gloves tighter on his hands.

'Aye aye captain.'

The small boat powered back to full speed and started to follow the curve of the nearby land mass.

It sped on for what seemed like long minutes until out of the mist there loomed a dilapidated jetty. The captain slowed as he neared it and the two figures on deck jumped across eager to tie off the vessel.

The dock was a regular tie-off point having been prepared earlier. The three men gathered what supplied they would need, checked their weapons and set off at a fast trot as quietly as they could. The first thing they had to do was check the fence around the marina. They did it almost without thinking, fast and methodical having done it dozens of times in the past.

The man pointed his weapon ahead of him at all times, his finger just an ounce of pressure away from pulling the trigger.

Everything was a s it should have been though; no breaks since the last time, no incursions.

Martin Phillips looked through the rusting steel at the slowly shambling figures on the other side and let out a deep tremulous breath.

So far so good he thought.


	2. Chapter 2 : Running the Message

**.2.**

Martin lifted the rifle with one hand and reached out to the fence with the other. One final check in the darkness and he pushed the gate outwards.

The metal flew back and slammed against his open palm.

The creature on the other side snapped his jaws closed on the empty air just the other side of his hand, his teeth clamping shut with such force that several were torn from its gums.

Blood and spittle spattered against his face as he pushed back against the sudden attack.

He opened his mouth to shout out but instantly thought better of it.

A shout or a shot would draw any dead within a mile.

He turned and placed his back against the rusted steel of the gate and, as quietly as he could manage, put his gun on the floor at his feet. He reached for the knife strapped to his waist.

He has seen this trick in a television show once (when they still made tv shows) and hoped the principle would apply here.

Taking a firm hold of the handle he turned and aimed the point at the thing eye socket.

The next time it pushed against him he pushed back.

The inch wide, serrated blade slid into the eyeball with a soft popping sound, a thick viscous fluid slid down the blade as Martin pushed it deeper. The eight inch blade almost disappeared before it hit bone. The thing in front of him went rigid and started to vibrate as it expired.

When he was sure it was really dead this time he pulled the knife out sharply and wiped it absently on his combat trousers. Watching the body on the other side slide slowly to the ground in an untidy, but ultimately, silent heap.

Have to destroy these when I get back, he thought.

He bent and retrieved his weapon and stood up once more.

Using his ears as well as his eyes this time he waited a further five minutes and then pushed the gate open again. This time there was nothing on the other side to meet him.

He crouched low and, once he was out, closed the gate behind him, pulling the drop-down latch for good measure.

None of the dead knew how to open a door but enough bodies pressed against it could conceivably bring it down.

He swung the rifle in a wide arc scanning for anything nearby. Then he moved.

Years of training came flooding back in that instant.

Scan for targets, move, cover...rinse and repeat.

He moved along the fence for almost a quarter of a mile and then angled towards the closest building. They had cleared it before and secured it, but there would be no harm in checking it again. He felt the reassuring weight of the padlocks keys in his pocket.

Hopefully the gate incident would be all the excitement he would get all night.

He was on a strict timetable here.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

McBride sat with his head low.

'And you just let him go?'

He looked across the room and shook his head at the woman seated across from him, the evening meal of stew forgotten in his hands.

Mary looked back defiantly. 'You know what he gets like, always wants to save us from the hard work.'

Martin had come to her earlier on and told her his plan. She hadn't been happy about it, but there had been little she could do to stop him.

'He's gone, the boats gone and as far as I can see that's the end of it. He'll be back when he gets back...he always comes back.'

McBride put his food down on the floor and walked over to her. He put a large meaty hand on her shoulder. She reached up and covered his hand with hers.

'I know that...I just don't have to like it is all.'

Just as he was walking back to his seat the rooms door opened and a red-face youngster ran in almost out of breath.

'Bob...Bob wants...'

Mary stood and reached out to the lad.

'Easy kid, breath, start again.'

He took a couple of deep breaths and steadied his breathing a little.

'Bob needs you, both of you, he's in the shack...says he has someone on the radio. He says you might want to hear what they have to say.'

Without waiting for a reply the kid spun on his heels and ran down the hallway outside. They heard him banging through another door and repeating the message.

McBride raised an eyebrow.

'Radio? Who the hell is left to get us on the damn radio?'

Mary grabbed her pistol and belt from where it hung over the back of her chair and buckled it on.#

'Only one way to find out,' she said.


End file.
